


Man of Many Faces

by fourfreedoms



Category: Generation Kill RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex can't always figure Stark out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man of Many Faces

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [godofwine](http://godofwine.livejournal.com), who explained that when she met him, Stark was a little more suave than she expected. Also [mydocuments](http://mydocuments.livejournal.com) and [trolleys](http://trolleys.livejournal.com) are terrible people. There were threats involving terrorists.

He can turn it on and off. That’s what nobody knows about him. They think he’s a sweet little boy who found himself a bubble in the great Hollywood machine. Maybe the last one left. Alex wouldn’t call it an act exactly. Sometimes the gentleness is very much a part of him. Like when gives money to homeless people before they can open their mouths to ask or talks on the phone for hours with his mom, regular like clockwork. But other times the gentleness is gone.

He knows just how to make a long look count and where to put his hand on the small of a girl’s back so that she still feels the pressure after he’s taken it away again. He calculates just how much you’ll bend for him, and whether he has the time to push and find out how that suits him. Sometimes he’s vicious, hammering the bottom of his crushed pack of Parliaments saved for rainy days and telling sardonic jokes and not so secretly laughing at everybody. Alex doesn’t know what face is real and which face is part of the mask.

They’re out one night at a little hole in the wall that serves gin and tonics that are mostly gin. There’s an old-fashioned jukebox that’s been playing Grand Funk Railroad for hours. Alex is doing up his fly, just exiting the restroom when spots some girl cozied up to Stark at the bar. From the signed napkin she’s clutching, she’s recognized him from Twelfth Night or Bonnie & Clyde. Stark says he doesn’t get stopped for anything else. Stark’s doing his best cocked head soft-eyed routine and when she stumbles away from him back to her group of giggling friends he waves after her.

Alex joins him at the bar and casts a critical eye over her. She’s hot. She bends over the table to display the autograph and her hair falls over her shoulder, revealing tanned shoulders showcased by the plunging back on her shirt. Too arty for his taste—but hot—right up Stark’s alley.

“You could’ve gone with that,” Alex says. “When was the last time you got laid?”

“Sorry?” Stark asks, tossing back his drink.

“Don’t pretend to misunderstand me, I’ve seen you work your…” he jerks his head at Stark, “thing.”

Stark runs his thumb over his lip and then resolves his face into a smile. “I think I’m done here.”

He throws enough money to pay for both their drinks and then makes his way outside. Alex follows because he’s spending the night at Stark’s place and all his stuff’s there. He doesn’t know what this mercurial behavior means. He’s got half a mind to call one of the other dozen friends he has in New York, but something, curiosity maybe, keeps him in step beside Stark. They walk back in silence. Stark seems strangely serene for a man who just chucked money at the bartender and walked out.

He unlocks the door to his apartment, but doesn’t flick on the light in the little hallway. They stand silent for a second in the darkness. Alex wonders what’s going on and then Starks’s got him thrust up against the wall, palm firm in the middle of Alex’s chest. He hears the thud resound through his torso.

“ _Jävlar_ ,” he curses, surprised.

Stark’s green eyes glint black in the darkness and Alex thinks this may be where he hits Stark. Stark isn’t like the friends he has where he can get into casual fights and they can all come up laughing from bloody noses and bruised ribs. He likes Stark. Maybe too much. He hasn’t even seen his other New York friends the last four times he was here.

“My thing doesn’t seem to work on you,” Stark says, enunciating carefully.

Alex blinks down at him. “What do you mean?”

Stark’s fingers push harder on his chest, like they could break through his ribcage to his heavily pounding heart. Alex doesn’t understand the shock of adrenaline his body produces. If it comes to a fight, he would win. He’s got at least 9 kilos on Stark. He fucked up for a solid four-year portion of his life. If Stark wants to fight in his own goddamned apartment, Alex will put him on the floor.

Stark presses a rough kiss to Alex’s mouth, teeth clacking together on purpose. Alex breathes out and the pressure on his chest recedes. He doesn’t know how much was from Stark’s hand and how much was from a sudden tightness in his lungs. He catches Stark’s lower lip between his teeth, bites at it till he knows it’s pink and bruised. Sucking on it obscenely just to hear the sound it makes. As they come away from the wall, Alex walking Stark further into the apartment, he realizes that Stark’s hand was behind him, covering the light switch so it wouldn’t stab Alex in the back when he pushed him up against it.

Alex pulls his mouth away. “I appreciate directness,” he says, voice catching like he’s got a chest cold.

“You’re a dumbass,” Stark replies. He cards a hand through Alex’s hair and tightens it at the last moment, using it to drag Alex’s mouth back to his. Alex moans and shoves him bodily back against the round table Stark’s had since he was in college. He knows because every beer stain, every cigarette burn has a story Stark will gladly recall. It creaks ominously as he fits himself between Stark’s legs, biting at Stark’s jaw. The skin is soft and tastes strongly of aftershave.

Stark gets a hand between them, gripping Alex through his jeans. “How big are you?” he asks, thumb dragging over the hardening ridge underneath the denim. Bastard isn’t even breathless.

Alex tightens his hands on Stark’s hips. “Why?”

“I want to know if it’s an act when you walk like you have to give your dick room.”

“Like you being a good boy?” Alex replies, and scrapes his teeth over Stark’s jugular.

Stark laughs. He catches Alex’s chin in his free hand so that he can’t look away. “I really am a good boy, so are you going to fuck me with your big dick?” Alex tosses his head, twisting out of Stark’s grasp. He runs his tongue over Stark’s lower lip and thrusts against him hard enough that the table skids a few inches across the floor.

He gets Stark back to his bedroom, and fucks him with probably too little prep. All the pillows and covers get tossed onto the floor. Stark keeps his eyes squeezed shut tight, but he stays hard the entire time, dick trapped between their bodies. His pretty lips part around frequent moans. It’s euphoric. Alex feels Stark’s nails on his back and wants to thrust in harder, to hit that place where Stark breathes. The base of his spine tingles like somebody set fire to him. He’s sweating so much they’re slip-sliding together. He bends Stark in half, and Stark thrusts back hard against him, stripping his own dick with a practiced hand.

His eyes snap open just before he comes, meeting Alex’s gaze. It vibrates through him, right into Alex. He drops his head and loses himself to orgasm, faced pressed into the sheets just above Stark’s shoulder.

Stark winces as Alex eases out of him and pitches the condom at the waste basket on the other side of the room. He turns to look down at him. A flush recedes over the bridge of Stark’s nose and his damp hair curls on his forehead. He pulls Alex back to him, winding his arms around him. And shining-faced delicately-treading Stark is back.

“Are you schizophrenic?” Alex asks, breaths still coming fast.

“You don’t like to be treated gently,” Stark replies and at just that moment pushes his fingers into a knot of muscle in Alex’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. Alex groans and jerks against him. Alex doesn’t. But he’ll let Stark stroke his hand down along his spine, fingertips just skimming over the skin, because he’s been fucked stupid and can’t form a proper coherent protest. And maybe then he’ll get to do the whole thing over again.


End file.
